


Yes, Yes and Thrice, Yes

by gethbecomesher



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dry Humping, F/M, Kidnapping, Making Out, Multiple Perspectives, Rescue, explicit but not too pearl clutchy, regular humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gethbecomesher/pseuds/gethbecomesher
Summary: Slightly re-imagined retelling of the "No, No and Thrice, No" mission where Arthur and Susan Grimshaw rescue Tilly from being kidnapped by the Foreman Brothers gang. A sweet sexual tension isn't acted upon before Tilly goes missing. Tilly is forced to be brave or fall apart. They must both face their own personal demons before coming together to start something new.
Relationships: Tilly Jackson/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Yes, Yes and Thrice, Yes

The morning dawned hazy and balmy over the Shady Belle. Arthur made his way down the stairs of the old abandoned house. It was still dirty and in disrepair, but he had to believe that the property was the better for having them in it than the degenerates they wrested it from. 

Every bedroom and stretch of floor was occupied with sleeping bodies and gear. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he lived in a house full of people. Even though the wagons were still outside and half-packed, staying in a house gave them at least the illusion of stability that everyone in the gang craved but would never admit. Things with the gang were a little too hectic for anyone to feel good about much, but Shady Belle had all the makings of what could feel like a home someday. 

Arthur followed his nose to Pearson’s wagon. The smell of fresh coffee mingled with campfire smoke and freshly chopped onion. His stomach growled; he’d have to remember to stop by later for that stew. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped at it, staring into the crackling fire in a sleepy daze. He heard Mary-Beth stir and yawn behind him and he was reminded that he had found a pen she had asked for on his last ride out. He felt the sharp end of it poking his chest from his vest pocket and made his way toward her tent. 

Mary-Beth’s curls were crushed from sleep and she had the same early morning haze in her eyes that he did. She looked up at him as she sat up in her bed roll and gave him a half smile, squinting against the morning light. Wordlessly, he held out the pen to her and waited for her recognition. It took her a moment to understand what she was being offered. When she did, her face broke into a brilliant smile as she took the pen from Arthur’s outstretched hand. 

“Oh Arthur, thank you!” she said, practically bouncing. 

“It was no trouble,” said Arthur. “Say, when you finish writing that book, you’ll let me read it, won’t you?”

Mary-Beth’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know if it will be your kind of book, Arthur.”

“That don’t matter. Anything would be an improvement from staring at these maniacs.”

“Well alright, if you want to,” said Mary-Beth, admiring the shiny silver plate on her new pen. She looked slyly over at Arthur with a mischievous smile. “I noticed something last night.”

“Oh you did, did you?” Arthur lit a cigarette, puffed it, and handed it to Mary-Beth who accepted it gratefully. He lit another for himself. 

“I noticed you cuddling up to Miss Tilly,” she said, conspiring. “Over by the fire, after you thought everyone had went to bed.”

“Everyone except for you, apparently,” said Arthur. His voice was gruff but they both knew it was bluster. She stared up at him, smirking at his discomfort. 

“Is that, you know,  _ something _ ?” she asked. 

“Well Mary-Beth, you know a gentleman doesn’t discuss these matters.”

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know I was talking to a gentleman,” said Mary-Beth, giggling when Arthur cracked a smile. She waited expectantly for anything from him, but he simply stared off into the air, puffing on his cigarette. “Fine then, keep your secrets.”

Arthur shrugged and gave her a quick wink before he ambled over to sit in front of the fire. If Mary-Beth saw them, it was only a matter of hours before his business was the talk of the entire camp. He loved her like a sister, but Mary-Beth was an incorrigible gossip. Not that he could blame her, there was precious little else the women of the camp had to entertain themselves. 

He felt the corners of his mouth curling in a secretive smile. Things with Tilly were new. Not that he hadn’t thought about her that way before. Of course he had. Though, he had always made it a point to steer clear of the women in camp. That was on account of a lot of things, not the least of which was the constant reminder of how messy it could get, courtesy of Molly, Dutch, John and Abigail. Camp could already be a tense environment at times, he didn’t need the extra stress that romantic feelings came with polluting where he hung his hat. Especially with his history and luck.

His straightforward stance on in-camp romances was complicated slightly when Tilly found him last night in front of the dying campfire. It wasn’t out of the blue, but he hadn’t expected it. The last couple weeks found them both seeking each other out for no reason other than to talk and exchange playful flirtations. He started bringing her small presents back from his rides. She would fix him plates of food and do his washing when he was away. Arthur couldn’t recall who started it, but he liked it. He liked it even more when she kicked it up a notch by getting close to him.

He was at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, getting comfortably drunk before he turned in for the night. The fire was down to crackling embers and he found himself staring into it as if he expected it to show him something. He felt her hand softly on his shoulder, steadying herself as she stepped over the log to sit next to him. She smelled like honeysuckle and whiskey. Arthur smiled when he inhaled her scent. She sat close enough to him that her skirt overlapped his leg when she sat down. 

“What are you smiling about?” she asked. 

“Nothin’” he said. 

He felt her looking at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. She was so close and she smelled so good, he didn’t want to be responsible for what he might do if he saw his intentions reflected in her eyes. Instead, he plucked at the section of her skirt that fell over his knee. It wasn’t long before he was imagining removing that skirt and everything that went with it, running his hands all over the soft smooth curves of her body. He coughed and took another long pull from his whiskey bottle, tossing it to the ground when he emptied it. If he kept entertaining those thoughts for much longer, he’d have to excuse himself up to his room to take care of the business stirring in his jeans. 

They both sat staring at the fire for what seemed like hours. Arthur felt nervous as a schoolboy for reasons he didn’t want to think too much about. This was Tilly, they were friends, they lived together. He enjoyed flirting with her, but he flirted with everyone. It was all in good fun. It was different when it was with her. He meant it. Tilly joining him there, sitting so close; was it possible she meant it too?

He felt her stir and he felt a stab of disappointment, assuming she was about to leave. Instead, she rested her head ever so gently against his shoulder. He looked down at her, surprised, elated, and even more nervous. Her skin shone like dark honey in the ebbing firelight. He wanted more than anything to touch the soft warmth of her cheek, but he didn’t dare defile her with his rough, dirty hands. Instead, he held his breath as he slowly moved his arm to wrap around her waist. Contrary to his expectations, she snuggled into his side, resting a delicate hand on his chest. 

The gesture was so sweet and tender he had to consciously stop himself from grabbing and kissing her right there. Regardless of who might still be stumbling around the camp, it was a line he was afraid to cross with her. The gang was in so much trouble, both with the law and with themselves. He constantly worried about keeping everyone safe. His new tender feelings for Tilly were a complication, but if he acted any more upon them, he’d lose himself in her. Besides, he was a dumb, mean son of a bitch who couldn’t keep a woman around and didn’t deserve to. They were destined to end in tragedy one way or another. He bargained silently with the universe. Just let him keep this one perfect moment. It would have to be enough. 

The fire died long before he regretfully untangled himself from their sweet embrace and stood. Tilly looked up at him with a question in her eyes and he simply couldn’t find the words to answer her. He gritted his teeth. _Say something, dumbass_. After a moment, she rose as well. Arthur didn’t miss the shadow of a wistful smile that passed across her lips before she bid him goodnight and walked to her tent. He kicked himself all the way to his room. 

Arthur sipped his coffee and cringed when the bitter liquid inside was cold against his lips. He dumped the rest of it into the dirt and stood to stretch. He looked up from beneath the brim of his hat to see Susan Grimshaw storming his way, lightning sparking in her eyes. He didn’t have time to wonder what he had done to deserve such ire, because she was on him in seconds. 

“Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan, we have a problem. A real problem,” she said, thundering past him. She grabbed a shotgun, checked to see that it was loaded, and stowed it in the back of a hitched wagon. “It’s Tilly.”

“What?” Arthur responded, dazed. 

“She’s been taken.”

“Taken?”

“By them Foreman brothers she used to run with,” said Susan. She pulled a revolver from under a sack of grain on Pearson’s wagon and shoved it into the waistband of her skirt. “Come along!”

Arthur sputtered, staring at Miss Grimshaw. How had they gotten into camp? How had no one heard them? Who was supposed to have been on watch last night? If it was Bill or Micah he’d - His brain short circuited. He had meant to get to the bottom of something, start them out on a smart foot, but all that came out of his mouth was, “The Foreman brothers? What are they doing here?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Well I don’t know what they’ve been doing here, but I can tell you what they’re going to be doing here. Dyin’.”

“Sure,” said Arthur. He stood there, his hands empty, his head spinning. He couldn’t shake images of blood and gore out of his head. The things he’d seen animals like the O’Driscolls or the Foremans do to women made his blood boil. Thinking about anyone laying a hand on her was too much for him to consider. He felt the threat of panic rising in his throat and shoved it back down. He couldn’t lose his head, Tilly was depending on him.

“Arthur!” shouted Miss Grimshaw. Arthur snapped his head to her. It was clear it wasn’t the first time she had tried to get his attention. Her eyes softened a little, registering his distress. “Well, get your gear and get on the wagon. You’re driving.”

_ *** _

Tilly came-to on the back of a horse as it slowed to an easy walk. Her hands and feet were bound and she had a powerful headache, not to mention her chest and belly feeling hammered with every step the horse took. Her first instinct was to scream, but she thought the better of it and kept quiet in the hope of finding out anything useful that she could use to escape. From the sound of hoof beats, there were others riding with her and her abductor, though she couldn’t make out how many. 

Who had taken her? Why her? Was it the O’Driscolls? They had taken Arthur some time back just to get to Dutch. She supposed it could have been them, but they wouldn’t see her as anything to Dutch. Maybe they didn’t care. Of course, it could be any one of the groups the Van Der Linde gang had pissed off in the last few months and she wouldn’t be surprised. She just wished they’d leave her out of it, she was tired. She heard hooves galloping from behind her and saw them on the ground as they caught up to the rider who held her.

“Did any of ‘em see you?” asked a male voice. She instantly recognized it. It was goddamn Anthony Foreman. Jesus Christ, when would she ever be rid of him? Her insides turned to ice. Not until one of them was dead, she realized. Well, she wasn’t going to be first.

“No, I don’t think so,” replied the voice of her captor. She didn’t recognize him. 

“Well, which is it? No, or you don’t think so?”

“No!” 

“I swear if your dumb ass brings the likes of Dutch Van Der Linde down on us I’ll feed you to him myself,” said Anthony. Her captor was silent. He stopped his horse.

Tilly quickly looked around before shutting her eyes tight again, confirming her suspicions. They were at the Foremans’ safehouse outside of Rhodes. At least they stopped here and didn’t take her right to the swamp to kill her outright. She hoped she gave Miss Grimshaw enough of an idea of where this place was when she expressed her concerns about their camp being so close, even if she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them in months. Of course, she also had to hope that Miss Grimshaw or someone saw her being taken or could put the pieces together, because she had no idea if anyone even knew she was gone. 

A moment later, Tilly was hauled roughly off the back of the horse and thrown over a man’s shoulder. She kept her eyes shut, hoping she could remain playing unconscious to try and avoid conversation, ridicule, or worse. 

She felt the man’s bony shoulder bump against her hip bone with every step he took. The floorboards creaked with his labored steps until he unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor with no regard for her being unable to protect herself from the fall. Her shoulder and the side of her head cracked against the wood floor. She struggled against her bonds, groaning, wanting to rub her head, feeling the warm ooze of blood trailing down the side of her face from her temple. 

“Mornin’, Miss Tilly,” said Anthony, hovering above her. Tilly spat at his boots. The cruel smile he flashed at her made her stomach drop. Anthony reached down, grabbed her by her shoulders and hauled her to her knees. He nodded at one of his men and she felt her tied hands wrenched upwards and tied down tight to the metal footboard of the bed. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she could feel her body shaking, but she would die before she would ever give Anthony Foreman the satisfaction of knowing he’d put that fear into her. 

“I’ve been missin’ you a long while, Miss Tilly. Did you miss me?” his hot breath on her ear smelled of tobacco spit and stale alcohol. Her stomach heaved. “You don’t have nothin’ to say?” 

The other man left the room, closing the door behind him. She was alone, tied to the bed, with a glowering Anthony Foreman standing over her. Her eyes threatened to water and she bit down on her cheek hard. 

“I would think you’d have somethin’ to say.” He paced slowly around her, nudging her legs with the toe of his boot. She glared at him, defiant as she could muster. 

“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you, you goddamned psycho,” she said. Her tone was slow and controlled, unlike her hammering pulse. Something hard and dark shone in his eye. Tilly saw it right before he backhanded her across the mouth. 

“Try again,” he said. Blood pooled in her mouth from where her teeth cut her lip when he smacked her. She swallowed it. He stepped to her, raising his hand again and she flinched. She cursed herself as he stepped back, smirking. “We understand each other, then.”

“What do you want?” He leaned close to her and inhaled deeply. He put a finger under her chin. She turned away. 

“Don’t be like that.” He tried to caress her face again and she whipped her head away. He took her face in his hand, crushing her jaw in a vise-like grip. “We got unfinished business. Maybe you could start by apologizing for killin’ my cousin.” 

She wrenched her chin out of his hand.

“Now, the rest of the boys think I should respond by killin’ you back. What do you think?” He took a revolver from the waistband of his dirty jeans and put it up to her face. She tried her best to control her heavy breathing, but there was nothing for it. 

“You wouldn’t like that, would ya?”

“Quit playing with me and do it if you’re gonna do it,” Tilly snapped. She was rewarded with another smack across her cheekbone. 

“Is that what you want?!” Anthony yelled. Tilly flinched again. A strange, concerned look overtook his expression. He patted her hair with a shaky hand. “Tilly, baby, I’d never hurt you.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked around at her predicament. 

“This? I ain’t hurting you, honey. This is just slapping some sense into you. There’s too much history here. You can’t just walk away from it.”

“I ain’t interested in your history.”

Anthony brought his hand up again. Tilly met his eyes, unflinching. Instead of hitting her, he shook a finger in her face. “I know what you need,” he said. He stormed out the bedroom doorway and began to tear through the cupboards in the small kitchen. “You need a good meal,” he called from the kitchenette. “You were always ornery when you’re hungry.”

Tilly perked up. Would he leave her alone while he ran to the general store? She tested the ropes at her wrist. With enough time to work them, she could get out. Her heart leaped at the possibility. 

“Jimmy!” Anthony called out. Tilly heard the front door open and a man grunt from inside the house. “Get in there and watch over Miss Tilly while I ride out hunting with the boys.”

Tilly heard footsteps coming toward her. Anthony stood at the doorway, a curious look in his eye. He knelt in front of her and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. He flinched when she pulled her face away. “You’ll see, Miss Tilly. I’ll cook for you and you’ll feel better, then we’ll all go home.”

Jimmy walked in behind Anthony, cradling a rifle in his arms. “How long you gonna be?” he asked Anthony. Anthony shrugged. 

“We get back when we get back,” he said. With a last glance at Tilly, he left the room. 

There was noise of a commotion from the front of the house. Tilly strained to hear. It wasn’t unusual for the Foreman boys to fight amongst themselves. Maybe if she was lucky they’d just knock each other out and she could get out of there. She heard the sound of punches landing and the distinct sound of a woman grunting. She looked up at Jimmy, who threatened her with the butt of his rifle. 

“What are you waiting for? Get in there and find our girl!” Tilly heard the woman’s voice from outside. Could it be Miss Grimshaw? The front door slammed open and she heard struggling from outside the door of the bedroom. 

“Hey!” Tilly shouted. Jimmy smacked the back of her head, then yanked her back by her hair and shoved a gag in her mouth. Tilly gagged around the dirty cloth. 

“Keep still,” Jimmy grunted. “If I had it my way, you’d be dead already.”

The door to the bedroom opened with an explosive kick. Tilly struggled to turn to see her rescuer. She heard blows landing behind her and saw Jimmy’s rifle drop to the ground at her knees. The next moment, Arthur was kneeling in front of her, gently removing the gag from her mouth. 

“It’s okay, Miss Tilly,” he murmured as he worked to free her. He cut the ties off her hands and feet and helped her up. Her whole body was shaking, but she managed to stand right before she felt his strong arms pull her into a fierce embrace. He was trembling near as much as she was. His breathing was irregular and ragged against her hair.

“I thought they was, I -” Tilly stumbled over her words. Arthur stroked her temple and she buried her face in his chest. He smelled of campfire, horses, and home. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from falling to pieces right there. 

“It don’t matter what you thought, it’s okay,” he said, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her. Miss Grimshaw ran into the room, revolver in hand. Her expression changed from hard to relieved as soon as she saw Tilly. Tilly had never seen the woman look so soft. 

“What happened?” asked Arthur. His voice was soft against her ear and she could feel the rumble of his voice against his chest. 

“It was Anthony Foreman. He thinks he owns me,” she said. She could feel Arthur’s body tense at that. He let her go and marched toward the door. Tilly knelt down and grabbed Jimmy’s rifle from the floor, holding it in cold, shaking hands. 

“Where are they?” asked Miss Grimshaw. 

“He went hunting or somethin’,” said Tilly. “There were five of ‘em, I think.”

Arthur kicked open the back door of the little cabin in time to see three men kick their horses into a gallop. 

“That’s them!” said Tilly. Miss Grimshaw ran after Arthur, who walked briskly toward a tethered horse. He mounted and looked down to see Miss Grimshaw waiting to be lifted onto the saddle with him. He groaned before he acquiesced, reaching down to help her up to sit behind him. 

“If anyone approaches, shoot ‘em!” said Miss Grimshaw, hollering back at Tilly. 

“I’ll be fine,” she called after them. 

She walked through the house, shuddering at the lifeless bodies of Foreman boys littering the dingy little house. The front door was knocked off its hinges and stood open, crooked and splintered. She sat on the front steps of the house, laying the rifle across her lap. It could have been fifteen minutes or a few hours before she heard hoof beats coming up the driveway. She looked up, gripping the rifle. It was Miss Grimshaw. 

“Don’t worry, Miss Tilly. Arthur got your man. I told him not to kill him yet. That’s up to you,” said Miss Grimshaw. Tilly swallowed a lump in her throat. Miss Grimshaw sounded like she should be happy at this news. Instead, she fought down a swirl of emotions, most of which confused her.

Miss Grimshaw sat down next to her on the front step, patting Tilly’s hand in a sweet, motherly gesture that Tilly would never have expected from her. Minutes later, more hoof beats sounded and Tilly looked up, relieved to see Arthur. He got down from the horse and removed Anthony Foreman from the back. He had been hogtied just like he’d done to her. She felt some sense of satisfaction but the dark, grim look on Arthur’s face scared her. 

Arthur dropped Anthony at the foot of the stairs. He struggled against the ropes and Arthur kicked him in the gut. Miss Grimshaw walked over and yanked up his head by the hair, pointing his face at Tilly.

“You see this girl? You leave her alone,” she said, punctuating her words by throwing his face back into the mud. 

“She killed my cousin!”

“Your goddamn cousin had it coming, Anthony Foreman!” Tilly stood, staring down at him. Arthur hauled him to his feet and pressed the blade of his knife to Anthony’s throat. 

“Kill him, Arthur!” shouted Miss Grimshaw. Anthony swallowed against the blade at his throat and looked at Tilly with pleading eyes. Arthur looked at her, the darkness in his eyes made him frightening and nearly unrecognizable. 

“Do you want that?” his voice was low and husky as he spoke only to Tilly. Arthur would kill him without hesitation, she knew, but Tilly would not wield Arthur as a weapon the way everyone else did. 

“I want him to go away and tell all his cousins and the clowns he rides with to leave me alone!” 

“We were family, Tilly!” said Anthony. Arthur bit the blade of his knife into his neck. 

“You Foreman boys ain’t no kind of family I want,” said Tilly. 

“You think you can do that? Leave her alone?” said Arthur. 

“Yeah,” said Anthony. Arthur squeezed against his throat. “I’ll leave you alone! History is done.”

Arthur released him and sent him stumbling away. Anthony didn’t dare give Tilly a parting look as he climbed onto the nearest saddled horse and galloped away. Arthur breathed a sigh and Tilly met him, placing a hand softly on his arm. When he looked at her, more of himself seemed to be behind his eyes. 

She felt Miss Grimshaw’s hand in hers, pulling her towards their wagon. “Come on, Miss Tilly. Let’s get you home,” she cooed. 

“Arthur,” she said, but trailed off. He looked at her for a long moment. 

“Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you at camp.” He mounted the found Appaloosa and trotted away. Tilly dropped Jimmy’s rifle into the dirt before following Miss Grimshaw onto the wagon. 

***

Arthur returned to camp after dark. He spent the rest of the day hunting to clear his head and led the found horse to Pearson’s wagon to unload the game. He had a good amount of success in the afternoon, but his introspection somehow made him more moody than he already was. 

He was scared. Realizing that he was scared scared him even more. When he ran off, he thought he was just pissed off about the Foremans getting into their camp and kidnapping Tilly. He shuddered, remembering the dark thoughts that had refused to leave him alone. Tilly at the mercy of those brutes; he’d seen what men like them, men like him, did to women. Dutch would pretend that they were better, but they weren’t, especially not after Blackwater. 

He had crazy thoughts of taking Tilly out of all this, getting a farmhouse out West somewhere. He had thoughts like that before, and that ended up like dogshit. Drawing parallels between Tilly and Mary wasn’t going to get him anywhere, just trigger bad memories and pain. He couldn’t let himself down that path again, it never ended well and it hurt too damn much. Still, on the way to the Foreman place he realized some things, not the least of which was that nothing in life was a guarantee. 

Even with all the security they had around camp, that group of plum idiots was able to sneak in and grab one of them. It could happen again, even if they doubled the watch around camp. It wasn’t that they were vulnerable to attack that worried him the most, it was that he never told Tilly how he felt. But what could he expect to happen if he did? Would they get married? Leave the life? Better yet, stay in and bicker and fight like John and Abigail? Tilly would thrash him every time he left for a few days or came home with a bullet in him. He’d get pissy about her nagging and carrying on.

He laughed cruelly at his own delusional visions of the future. What made him think she’d even have him? Tilly was smart, young and beautiful. He was quickly turning into a crusty old man; stuck in his ways, too stupid to stop making the same mistakes over and over. He had nothing to offer her or any other woman and those circumstances weren’t changing any time soon. He scowled into the fire and stormed off to split firewood at the stump behind the house. Pearson muttered his bewildered thanks to Arthur’s back. 

He swung the axe with punishing force, slamming it down and sending the wood springing apart from itself with considerable velocity. He stacked the split wood against the side of the house and went back for more. He was so in his own head that he didn’t hear the twigs snap beneath Tilly’s feet as she stood behind him. 

“Arthur,” she said. There was a hesitance in her voice that made him cringe. She wasn’t meant to see how much of a brute he could be away from camp. Knowing in her head was one thing but seeing it was something else. He was sure she saw how much he wanted to cut that Foreman’s head off. Was she disgusted with him?

“Not now, Tilly,” he said, swinging the axe down into a gnarled stump. 

“I just,” she trailed off. Arthur paused, his hand on the axe handle, the blade buried in the stump. He lowered his head and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to thank you for today. You saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss Tilly,” he responded, slightly impersonal. He expected her to understand the dismissal. He didn’t want to face everything that had been running through his mind all day head on, he couldn’t. Instead, she dug her heels in and planted her fists on her hips. He should have guessed. Stubborn girl. 

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know they was comin’ for me. They took me when I was asleep, Arthur. I never meant for you or anyone to get tangled up in my past like that,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. He turned his head to look at her. She was running her hands over her bare arms. Her brows were knitted together in a deeply worried expression. He didn’t know what to make of it. 

“I thought I’d be finding your corpse, Tilly.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Maybe it’s best if I go, find someone else to run with so I keep them off you.”

“They ain’t gonna bother you no more.”

“Even so.”

Arthur shook his head in a short, frustrated motion. He threw his hat to the ground and stepped toward Tilly. She didn’t step back or shrink. She simply looked up at him, searching. 

“Is that what you want?” Arthur swallowed hard, losing himself in her deep brown eyes. 

“No,” she was blunt. She broke their eye contact, moving her gaze to her feet. “But I feel I ought to-”

Arthur moved his hand to cup her face, catching her eyes again. He ran his thumb softly over her lips when they stopped mid-sentence. He felt her breath warm against him. His rough skin against her soft, delicate lips made him cringe but she didn’t move away. Instead, a coy smile started in her eyes and moved to the corners of her mouth. Arthur felt his heart leap at this second chance. 

Slowly, he lowered his face to hers, angling his head and brushing his lips softly against hers. He felt her move and her warm hands slid across his neck. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and he was overcome. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him as he deepened the kiss. He felt her melt into him. He walked her back until he had her pinned to the wall of the house and he moved his lips from hers down to her neck. The vibration of her moan in her throat against his lips made him ache.

He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Tilly looked at him, her eyes widening when she felt his hard bulge grinding against her. He took her lips in another crushing kiss, swirling his tongue against hers, tasting her as she rode him through the layers of their clothes. She wrapped her arms around him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she kissed up his neck to his ear. 

“Take me upstairs, Arthur,” she whispered. He groaned, biting his lip to keep him on the edge. 

“Yes, darlin’,” he said, and scooped her into his arms. She giggled against his chest as he carried her into the house and up the creaky stairs to his room. 

With one hand, he cleared the table he used for his map and set her down on top of it. He dropped to his knees, untying the garters of her petticoat and wondering at the strength it took to not tear them straight off her. He threw them to the floor and returned for another kiss. Tilly bit at his bottom lip as her hands grabbed his belt, fumbling at the clasp before releasing it and unbuttoning his jeans. She wrapped her legs around him again, drawing him into her. His cock slid into her, wet and tight, and he nearly came right there. 

Tilly clung to him, riding him, releasing breathy gasps against his neck at each thrust. They were both vaguely aware that the desk thumped against the floorboards with every move they made, but it was far from either of their concerns.

Arthur’s hands moved to her breasts, feeling her hard nipples through her dress. He unbuttoned the top enough for his hand to dip down to feel the soft warm skin. Tilly moaned at his touch and shrugged out of the sleeves, baring herself to the waist. Arthur’s mouth moved over her nipples and he could feel her clench around his cock. He groaned, he was so close. He sucked harder at the hard nipple and heard Tilly’s whispered “yes” into his scalp. She shuddered, moaning and coming around him and he released, not bothering who heard what as he groaned his pleasure. 

Downstairs, hoots and hollers erupted. Arthur chuckled shyly and buried his face in Tilly’s neck. She wrapped her arms around him and he picked her up, spun her around, and put her on his bed. She tossed her skirt away and he stripped off his clothes before crawling in with her. They twined their bodies around each other, basking in their warm post coital glow. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” he murmured. Tilly stroked his jaw with her fingers. 

“I better not have to wait that long for the next time,” she said. 


End file.
